


why'd you only call me when you're high?

by stylinshaw



Series: stanford [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Gen, M/M, Stanford Era, could be viewed as wincest or gen idek, possible drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinshaw/pseuds/stylinshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s hovered over Sam’s number so many times in the past two months, but he can’t.</i>
  <br/><i>But tonight, Dean’s drunk, and possibly high, and he opens a new message to Sam.<i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	why'd you only call me when you're high?

**Author's Note:**

> loosely based off the arctic monkeys song why'd you only call me when you're high.  
> hahaa this was fun to write  
> i'd like to write a part two to this, so there's that :)

The bar is starting to empty out. Dean finishes his beer in a gulp before getting up, staggering to the bathroom. He’s really, really drunk.  
It’s been nearly two months since that night, and Dean still can’t get over it.  
Sam’s left him. He’s not sure why he’s surprised, everyone leaves him anyway. He’s not worth it, he knows that.  
He opens the door to the bathroom and walks over the guy lying on the floor, and stares at himself in the mirror. He thinks someone’s spiked his drink because he sees three of everything and this sure as hell hasn’t happened to him before.  
He scrubs a hand over his face and leaves the bathroom, and Dean’s sure he sees Sam walking out, holding his jacket, and Dean can see Sam doing this clearly, at other bars, waiting for Dean to follow him.  
He shakes his head, and Sam is gone.  
Dean sighs. He takes his phone out of his pocket, examining the contact with the name ‘Sam’ closely. He’s hovered over Sam’s number so many times in the past two months, but he can’t.  
But tonight, Dean’s drunk, and possibly high, and he opens a new message to Sam.  
“I,” he talks to himself as he types. “Miss you, Sammy,” he presses send without hesitation, and maybe he should go for a walk.  
He lets himself out and the sky is inky black and the all the shops are closed, and Dean looks at the time on his phone. He thinks it says two or three, he can’t really be bothered to care.  
Sam still hasn’t replied, and Dean imagines him sitting on his bed, staring at the message with disgust because he doesn’t want Dean in his life, he doesn’t need him.  
Dean feels a pang of hurt shoot through him but tonight is his night. He doesn’t really know where he is or where he’s going, but Dad’s on a hunt and he can find his way back to his motel eventually. He walks into a lamppost as he stares at Sam’s contact again.  
He presses call.  
He continues his journey down the street, staring at the few people outside, listening to the dial tone hopefully. Nothing happens, until-  
“Hey,” Dean’s spirits lift for a split second until- “It’s Sam. I probably don’t have my phone, so, leave a message.”  
It’s not Sam, but hearing his voice is enough to make Dean feel at home, at least a little. He hears the beep for him to leave a voicemail.  
He hangs up.  
*  
Sam is trying to study but his fucking phone keeps vibrating every twenty seconds, and he’s been ignoring it for the past fifteen minutes because he’s sure it’s just one of his friends pressuring him to drop the tests and hang out with them instead, and he really doesn’t have the time.  
The phone vibrates again and Sam gets up angrily, ready to chew out whoever it was sending him those messages.  
He stops short when he sees Dean’s name across the screen. More than once.  
There are six messages and a voicemail. Sam opens the messages slowly, heart speeding up. Dean hasn’t talked to him in more than two months-Sam was quite sure Dean’s forgotten about him, but apparently not.  
He reads the texts out to himself as he paces around his room.  
“Miss you, Sammy. Want you back. Why did you leave? Come back.” Sam’s heart sinks with each text he reads, and the text is all mashed up and misspelt and Dean’s definitely drunk.  
His guilt overwhelms him for a second and he can feel his eyes fill up with tears. He likes Stanford, sure, but he misses Dean more and more every day, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.  
Sam opens the voicemail with trembling fingers, and waits. He doesn’t hear anything.  
*  
Dean’s left Sam so many messages and why is he not replying? He dials Sam’s number again as he walks across the street.  
“Sam,” he slurs as soon as he hears the beep. “Sammy, miss you,” he pauses, thinking about what he should say next, but he’s nearly hit by a car and he can still hear the sound of its’ horn as he presses the phone back to his ear. “How’s Stanford, college boy?” he hopes his words are making sense. If he’s being honest with himself, he can’t really understand them either.  
Dean waits for a reply, but remembers he’s not actually talking to Sam, and sighs. “Miss you,” he repeats, and the voicemail cuts off.  
*  
Sam’s phone is ringing, with a phone call, a phone call from Dean.  
He ignores it. He knows Dean’s drunk and he knows he won’t know what to say if he does pick up.  
Moments after the call stops, a new voicemail pops up. Sam listens to it, and he hears the sound of Dean’s voice, so tired and needy and unclear, and he fucking hates himself. How could he leave his big brother?  
Sam looks down at his phone for a moment, before opening a new message.  
*  
Dean’s trying to find his way back to his motel. He’s near the bar again, when his phone lights up.  
It’s from Sam. Dean honestly doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not.  
‘You’re drunk. Go to bed, Dean,’ is all it reads, or at least that’s what Dean thinks it says. It’s sort of blurry to him.  
But it’s Sam, and he doesn’t hate Dean, he’s showing concern towards Dean, and Dean couldn’t be happier right now.  
He pockets his phone as he walks back to his motel.  
*  
Sam is getting ready to go to bed. It’s almost four, and he has a lecture soon.  
Suddenly, his phone is ringing again, and Sam thinks he should be tired of hearing the noise over and over but really, it’s not because it could be Dean.  
It actually is Dean calling, and Sam decides not to ignore it.  
He presses answer and swallows.  
“Hello?”  
*  
“Hello?” Fuck, it’s Sam. Sam is talking to Dean. For the first time in two months, And Dean has no idea what to say.  
“Sammy,” he says quietly. He’s reached the motel, and he’s sitting on his bed drowsily.  
Dean hears Sam sigh. “Dean...”  
“I miss you, Sam,” Dean’s said this so many times tonight but he doesn’t think he can stop. “ I really, really do.”  
“Dean, you’re drunk,” Sam’s tone is controlled, like he’s trying not to break down, and Dean feels a little bad for feeling good that Sam can still cry over him.  
“I know that,” he replies instead.  
“Can we,” Sam sounds frustrated, and there’s a pause and Dean’s positive Sam’s doing that thing he does where he runs his fingers through his hair. “Can we talk about this when you’re sober?”  
“Talk about what?” Dean’s words are mushing together again. “Me missing you?”  
“Dean,” Sam says. “Please.”  
“Whatever,” Dean lies down on his bed. He can’t, won’t end the conversation on this note, though. “Take care of yourself, college boy.”  
Dean can feel Sam’s smile through the crappy phone line. “You too, Dean.”  
And the line goes dead.  
Dean’s asleep not soon after.  
*  
Sam tosses his phone on his table. He doesn’t know if Dean’s going to remember any of this tomorrow.  
But he hopes he’ll call back.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: froststiels mERRY CHRISTMASSS


End file.
